After The Gold Rush

Larry and I spent Sunday afternoon driving back from his birthday weekend in Santa Barbara: Or the Birthday/Engagement weekend, as it will be known forever hence. Larry watched the road and stole glances at me; I watched Larry and stole glances at the gold rush on my ring finger.

Larry set the iPod on “Shuffle” and we let the songs come to us at random. Nevertheless, it still picked an inordinate number of U2, The Who, and “The History of the British Invasion.” Including two in a row by Procul Harum? (“Whiter Shade of Pale”, etc). And Bono sang “Vertigo” twice in an hour. Of course I knew “Gimme Shelter” and “Won’t be Fooled Again,” but when I blithely followed along with “Georgy Girl” and the White Stripes, he looked over and he crowed:
How did I ever find you?!

We do have uncannily similar tastes in music, movies, and humor. Thank GOD. It’s a silly but significant detail. Music can make a relationship sing or sputter. If Larry were a smooth jazz fan; or I were into country music? God help us. I supposed we’d manage to stay married, but we’d never survive a road trip.

It was a simple question that he asked on Friday. And such a simple response that I made. We'd been throwing them both around for a while. So we knew both the question and the answer that were coming. Yet that simple YES started something in motion. Inevitability, gravity? Now it’s a tidal wave of calm and completeness. And a second coming of girlish glee is building as well.

I look over at the guy in the driver’s seat, a silly puckish grin as he sings “Winchester Cathedral” and then Beck, and I think, I get to marry that guy!

How right he is for me! How deep the rightness of this is taking root! Who else would want to start the day with a latte and free wi-fi, and end it reading Brendan Manning or the Bible? A guy whose web browser is set on spiritual things, but who loves the White Stripes and Marvin Martian, who’s frugal and eccentric and dangerous and funny?

Dang I get to marry Larry! He just gets foxier by the hour.